Hood was standing beside Stoll. He could tell from Hausen’s expression that all was not well. The normally impassive face was taut, the brows dipped in concern. But he decided not to ask Hausen about it. The German liked to think things through before speaking. If he had anything to share; he’d share it.
So Hood just stood there, silently watching with a mixture of fear and pride as the fate of the world was decided by a perspiring young man at a computer keyboard.
CHAPTER SIXTY Thursday, 5:05 P.M., Washington, D.C.
When data began coming into Eddie Medina’s computer from Matt Stoll in France, the young man took off his coat, sat back down, and told his evening replacement, Assistant Deputy Operations Support Officer Randall Battle, to notify General Rodgers.
Battle did, just as Stoll’s 🙂 signature faded. It was replaced by a screen which announced a big file called L’Operation Ecouter.
Rodgers had Battle send the material to his own computer. Then he too watched the feed with Darrell McCaskey and Martha Mackall.
First up was a note from Stoll.
Eddie: I don’t want to eat up too much line-time with notes.
Bulldozer cracked the Demain files. Primaries were erased but backups weren’t. I’m going to download everything from this file.
Following the note were photographs of people who served as models for characters in the game. After these came test segments showing white men chasing black men and women. White men raping a black woman. A black man being torn apart by dogs. Then there was a note from Stoll.
Real games being hatched from a nest somewhere else. Point of origin well hidden.
There were different angles of black men and women hanging from trees. A bonus round in which a kid raced against a clock while he used black boys on swings for target practice. Martha was stone-faced. McCaskey’s lips were rolled tight, his eyes narrow.
Ed— I must’ve set off an alarm of some kind. People running all around. Our French escort Colonel Ballon has got his hand full of gun.
I’m supposed to get down— bye.
The images continued to come in for a few moments longer but Rodgers wasn’t watching them. He had switched to an alternate computer line, and within seconds had been patched through to the cockpit of the V-22 Osprey.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE Thursday, 11:07 P.M., Toulouse, France
“Get away from that keyboard!” Using his left hand, Colonel Ballon pushed Matt Stoll to the floor and then pressed a button on his radio as the gunmen entered. In his right hand was his own weapon. It was the only weapon of any kind among the five of them.
Squatting on the floor beside the others, Hood counted twelve… fifteen… a total of seventeen men passing by the door and taking up positions albng the corridor wall. Except for the high windows which would require a small ladder to reach, that door was the only exit.
Hausen was lying face-down between Hood and the crouching Ballon. “Congratulations, Colonel,” he said.
“Dominique has swallowed your bait.” Hood knew he’d missed something which had passed between the men. Not that it seemed to matter at the moment. Certainly Ballon didn’t seem to care. Alert and cool, he was preoccupied with watching the new arrivals.
In the quick glimpse he’d had of the gunmen, Hood made them out to be a ragtag bunch. They were dressed simply, in several cases shabbily, as if they didn’t want to stand out in the street. And they were holding a variety of weapons. Hood didn’t need Ballon to tell him that these were New Jacobins.
“I guess these guys are the kind of evidence you were looking for, huh,” Stoll said anxiously.
“Levez!” one of the men shouted as they trained their weapons around the room.
“He wants us to get up,” Ballon whispered. “If we do, they may shoot us.” “Wouldn’t they have shot us already?” Nancy asked.
“They would have to come in for that,” Ballon said.
“They don’t know which of us might be armed. They don’t want to take casualties.” He leaned toward them and said more quietly, “I’ve signaled my men. They will be moving toward us, taking up positions.” “By the time they’re ready it may be too late,” Hausen said.
“Not if we keep concealed,” Ballon said, “make the enemy come to us. We’re prepared for this.” “We’re not,” said Nancy.
“If it happens that you’re caught in cross fire,” Ballon said, “and my men don’t see you, shout ‘Blanc,’ ‘White.’ That will let them know there are unarmed personnel.” Hausen said, “I’m going to give these animals a chance to shoot. Let’s see what they’re made of.” With that, he stood.
“Herr Hausen!” Ballon hissed.
The German ignored him. Hood didn’t breathe. He could only hear his heart thudding in his ears as he waited to see what happened.
Nothing happened for a long moment. Finally one of the New Jacobins said, “Allons donc!” “He wants Hausen to leave,” Ballon told Hood.
“This room or the building?” Hood asked.
“Or maybe this mortal coil?” Stoll added.
Ballon shrugged.
Hausen began walking forward. His courage impressed Hood, though a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was courage or confidence. The confidence of a collaborator.
Ballon was also waiting. When Hausen was through the door, his footsteps stopped. They listened, heard nothing.
He was apparently being detained.
The New Jacobin called for the rest of the people to come out. Hood regarded Ballon.
“You’ve dealt with these terrorists,” Hood said. “What do they do in situations like this?” “They beat up or murder people in every situation,” Ballon said. “Mercy is not a word they understand.” “But they didn’t kill Hausen,” Nancy said.
“Maintenant!” shouted the New Jacobin.
“Until they get our weapons, they won’t,” Ballon said.
“Then we should get Nancy and Matt out of here,” Hood said. “Maybe they can get away.” “And you,” Nancy said.
Ballon said, “It’s probably worth a try. The danger is that they may use you as hostages. Shoot you one by one until I come out.” “How do we prevent that?” Nancy asked.
“If that happens,” Ballon said, “I’ll signal my men by radio. They’re trained for situations like that.” “But there are still no guarantees,” Hood said.
The New Jacobin shouted again. He said he would send his people in if everyone else didn’t come out.
“No,” Ballon agreed, “there are no guarantees. But if that happens, they’ll have to put each hostage in the doorway so I can see. And if I can see, I can shoot. And if I shoot, whoever is holding the hostage will go down. Then you had all better run.” Hood envied the Frenchman his gall. From Mike Rodgers, he had learned that that was what it took to run an operation like this. He himself wasn’t so confident right now.
His thoughts were with his wife and children. He was thinking about how much they needed him and how dearly he cherished them. How it all could end here because of one wrong word or a misstep.
He looked over at Nancy, who was wearing a sad halfsmile.
He wished he could make it all up to her, his part in the turns her life had taken. But there wasn’t much he could do right now, and he wasn’t sure there would be a later. So he just smiled at her warmly and her own smile broadened.
For now, that would have to do.
“All right,” Ballon said to the others. “I want you to get up and walk slowly toward the door.” They hesitated.
“My legs aren’t moving,” Stoll said.
“Make them,” Hood said as he rose, followed by Nancy and very reluctantly by Stoll.
“Here I thought we were the good guys,” Stoll said. “Do we raise our hands or just walk? What do we do?” “Try and calm down,” Hood said as they made their way between the banks of computers.
“Why do people always say that?” Stoll asked. “If I could, I would.” Nancy said, “Matt, now you’re getting on my nerves.
Can it.” He did, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
Hood watched the New Jacobin who had spoken, the man closest to the door. He had a thick black beard and mustache and was dressed in a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. An assault rifle was tucked under his arm. He looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
The three were quiet until they walked through the doorway. Hood saw Hausen facing a brick wall, his hands pressed against it, his legs spread. One of the men was pointing a pistol up against the base of his skull.
“Oh, shit,” Stoll said as he entered the small, dark corridor.
The three Americans were grabbed by two men each and pushed against the wall. Guns were placed against the backs of their heads. Hood moved his head slightly so he could see the man in charge. The New Jacobin was cool, standing sideways so he could see his prisoners and also look into the room.